Page 58 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

I press the heel of my hand to my forehead and stand there until the water glass is empty. If I call him now and confess I’m pregnant and being threatened, he’ll hear two things at once, and one of those things will sound like the exact pattern he’s spent years resenting.

I don’t need a lecture tonight.

I need safety.

The phone rings at 4:52 a.m.

The sound makes my nerves jump so hard I nearly drop it. When I see the caller ID, the dread shifts shape. My mother’s name on my screen feels legitimately ominous. I stare at it for a moment and consider letting it ring out, then I answer because my body still remembers the rules. “Hello.”

“Athena,” Veronica says, voice sweet enough to make my teeth ache. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I reply, then immediately regret giving her information.

“Well,” she says brightly, “I’m glad someone in this family functions like an adult.”

I close my eyes and lean my shoulder against the wall. “What do you want, Mom?”

“I want to know,” she says, and the smile slips from her voice, “why someone vandalized my front porch at three in the morning.”

My skin goes cold. “What?”

She keeps talking, words clipped now, anger sharpening her consonants. “A plant was smashed. The welcome mat was cut. Someone sprayed something on my door..”

My fingers dig into the edge of the counter. “Mom,” I say slowly, “what did they spray?”

Veronica makes a small sound that could be a laugh if she had a soul. “Nothing you’d put on a Christmas card,” she replies. “And there was a note.”

My mouth goes dry. “What note.”

Veronica pauses like she’s savoring it. “I found it in the mailbox. A little folded piece of paper. Very theatrical, if I do say so myself.”

I stop breathing for half a second. “What did it say?”

Mom inhales then reads it like she’s performing for an audience. “That smartass daughter of yours will be next.”

I grip the counter harder. For a moment my apartment feels too small. “Are you sure,” I whisper, and I hate myself for how small my voice sounds.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she replies, then her tone turns sharper. “So now you’re going to tell me what you’ve done.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I say quickly.

Mom makes a dismissive sound. “Athena, people don’t vandalize a home at random,” she replies. “This is connected to your choices, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”

I rub my eyes wearily. “Mom, listen to me, I⁠—”

“No,” she interrupts, “you listen to me. I raised you to be careful, and you’ve always had to make everything harder than it needs to be.”

A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You raised me to be obedient.”

“You’re being selfish again,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it was standing outside my door with the police while my neighbors watched?”

My eyes burn. “Did anyone get hurt,” I ask, forcing myself back to the point.

“No,” Veronica says, then her voice softens in the most manipulative way possible. “Not yet.”

My nails press into my palm. “What do you want me to do,” I ask quietly.

Mom sighs like she’s tired of me. “I want you to stop whatever you’re doing. I want you to stop dragging trouble to my doorstep, and I want you to think for once about how your actions affect people other than you.”